Bucketful of Wonka
by swallowfatewings
Summary: There's nothing sweeter than those two togther. But what is Willy tryn to do to her?
1. Chapter 1

Mrs. Bucket frowned. She didn't know how that cup of hot-chocolate came here. She was so engaged in her work, writing letters to her gregarious girl friends, when that creamy smell and warmth caught her nose and swarmeda delectable sensation into her. She awkwardly smiled, but then gently picked it up with three fingers and closed her eyes as she drew the tase near her. There was no way she was going to just leave it there, no way no how. It was too beautiful to turnaway from, even though she's learnt throughout her whole life how she shouldn't come near to any strange taste but she's already relinquished to that sweet sweet cup of steaming chocolate by her side, not knowing anything but it's a cup of hot-chocolate, but it's not like it would have marijuana in it. She shut her eyes deeper and quietly purred as the liquid lapped against her lips. Delectably harmless.

A hat was shadowed outside the windowpane that she wasn't aware of. The hidden face smiled, flashing a simple glow of white from its luminent, somewhat fishy grin.

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"Thanks mum, the chocolate waffles were great!"

"Your welcome, Charlie dear! The syrup was freshly fetched this morning!"

She watched her son take his schoolbag and go, before tunring back to the rest of the family, lying in bed. She noticed something weird. The way they were all motionlessly staring at her. She ignored the two old couples and looked down at her kitchen work.

"Oh, well," she sighed. "Better send those lonely waffles and coffee to Willy. He's probably never had breakfast since forever." She picked up the tray and at the grandparents she winked. "Things are going to change now that we're here!"

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A soft knock sounded on Wonka's door. He was occupied in his work but still cried in his high, over-excited tone.

"S'open."

Mrs. Bucket appeared at his door, his back was facing her and he nearly knocked a glass down when he realized it was her after the second time he's whirled around.

"Oh, goodness," he said, half-wary, half-surprised. "It's you."

She smiled as she let her hand fall from the knob and approached him with the tray.

"Yes, it is me, Willy. Why seeming so surprised?"

"Oh, it's just... just uh..." Willy didn't whirl around completely when she first came. He only let his dumfounded face be revealed to her. But he seemed to be troubled and alert by each nearing step she took, skipping slightly to one side so tense, so horrifyed,and letting his arm stand in the way between her and his stuff on the counter he apparently didn't want her to see.

"Willy?" she raised an arm to him and he jumped aseverything liying in front of him was knocked down to the ground. His frightened eyes immediately turned from her to the crashing and banging noises, shrinking his body for protection.

Mrs. Bucket reacted passively, drawing her arm back. She most of the times didn't hold any comment to Wonka's upspringing behavior.

"Anyway, this tray - thisbreakfast is for you," she set the tray on the counter that was now spacious enough, her eyes frowning downwards. She turned them upwards until they locked his mortified, violet ones. She could sense the disturbance in them and bit her lip in sympathy.

"Watch yourself, Willy." That was her last comment before she left the room. Wonka still felt his body too stiff to move, and his mind was even worse at functioning again. He could only revolve his eyes in distracted pensiveness. A tug on his tail, and he swerved his head to his side. There was an oompa loopma staring up at him oddly. Wonka made an effor to light up a smile on his face. It gradually appeared but was still a distracted one and barely lit.

"Yeah?" he uttered soflty. The oompa loompa gestured somethingand Willy Wonka nodded and gulped. "Alright, I'll be there."

Wonka turned his head to the open door again when the oompa loompa left him. He parted his lips to release a deep, thoughtful sigh and walked away. He walked rather dryly with his cane that waved even more sourly. How can he mess up like that? It's not that he wasn't used to a family living with him, it was Mrs. Bucket. He thought, more irritated than hurt.

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"Mother?"

"Yes, dear?"

Mrs. Bucket answered the kind innocent tone absentmindedly. Her hands were plunged in the soapy water in the sink as she's done little motions at scrubbing dishes. Her face was staring towards the small window before her. The rest of the family were nibbling dinner in the quiet, bonded nature.

"Have you seen Mr. Wonka today?"

"Yes, I've seen him this morning at breakfast. He was working in his inventing room."

"Then he's probably still there," grumbled Grandpa George. Charlie ignored his grandfather and stared at his mother's back.

"Have you checked on him?"

Mrs. Bucket as if suddenly perturbed dropped the plate from her grip. "Checked on him, what do you mean checked on him?"

There was a sudden silence that echoed behind her, and she took a moment to tilt her head and face the family. Charlie was slightly dropping his jaw and Mr. Bucket's eyebrows were raised in a rather surprised, laughing expression. Her face softened and she shut her eyes with a silly apologetic giggle. "Sorry. Don't mind me. I've had such a funny day if you asked me."

"But you haven't seen anything yet!" exclaimed Charlie. "Ask me, I get to spend my whole evenings with Mr. Wonka!"

"Do you want some chocolate chips, Charlie?" Mrs. Bucket strangely interrupted. She was acting weird and the whole house could notice it, really clearly notice it. Charlie winced. Mrs. Bucket winced back.

"Alright, Charlie! I'll go check on him." She placed the plates of cookies in front of the family, took her shawl and left the house. No further comment.

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A cry sounded from the inventing room, followed by a crash. Mrs. Bucket could've hesitated before entering the room, but she intuitively threw herself in there.

"Willy what's happening she screamed!"  
A pair of astonished eyes immediately fell on here.

"Mrs. Bucket!" Wonka grinned. "What a pleasant surprise!"

She straightened herself from her awkward position and looked at him wryly. Just this morning it wasn't like a pleasant surprise.

"No really," Wonka said, seemingly reading her thoughts. "Come forward, please!"

Mrs. Bucket took hesitant, faltering steps over to Mr. Wonka, who stood patiently watching her with his insane sinister grin. The surroundings were already dark and eerie to be calling for his grin. She reached the cheery chocolatier, and he led her to something that looked like a pool full of glowing water of various shades of wonderful pale colours. She was shocked at first but then she felt herself smiling delightedly because what flowed inside of her couldn't be restrained.

"What do you think?" rang out his soft, elated mutter from behind her. It was as if it belonged to a child, who still didn't lose the enthusiasm about being surprised at every single novel thing he discovered.

Mrs Bucket was not sure. But her eyes were gleaming fervently at the pond. "It's… it's magical!"

Wonka seemed to slack back in gratification. He was brilliant, why would he need a mere woman to be pleased of himself?

"I don't know what it is, but it's magical?"

Wonka inclined himself closer to her so that his stomach would be nearly brushing her back. "Want to know what it is?"


	2. Chapter 2

Mrs Bucket shivered. The ringing voice was very close to her, and it rattled her insides a little. But it was a mild and powerfully luring rattle, if you know what I mean. She tried to breathe in so she could breathe out "yes".

"Heh," Wonka exclaimed with joy. "You know one of those worlds I always like you guys to imagine?"

Mrs Bucket winced, though her face was not exposed to his. "You mean those unreal, fanciful worlds you impel us to imagine?"

Wonka somehow seemed irritated at the thought. "You call my delectable chocolate room unreal?" he snapped, sort of.

She shook her head, but not to indicate refutation, to indicate hopelessness. "Oh, Willy," she sighed. "Oh, Willy, Willy, Willy…"

"The chocolate room," he cut sharply and snootily, "has properties that none of you petty minded futile headed mumblers could even contain!" he pointed out in his superior guide manner. Mrs Bucket was mature enough not to retort, and she smiled sweetly instead.

"Enlighten me, Willy. What does it do?" By the sweet curiousness that was revealed to him, Mr Willy Wonka flushed and was once again his overjoyed self.

"The… the chocolate… the… the chocolate room?"

"_No_!" Mrs Bucket shook her head furiously. "Not the chocolate room… the whatever miserable scum daubing in there!"

"Weh…" he started, and she could tell his was grinning tremendously. Unrepentantly she felt an arm reach over her. Wonka was holding a small silver cup in his hand and slowly attempted to fill it up. To Mrs Bucket's terrorized surprise out of what she saw, the cup had no effect on the water. It passed through the water as though it was just a multi-colored fog that saturated the pond. Rather comically, Wonka acted with aghast wonderment when he pulled the beaker out and inspected what's in it. Mrs Bucket was more and more bemused. She stared at him, frowning with motherly concern, as he trod away from her a little, backwards. His jaw was gaping and his eyes were fixed on the contents of the container, which according to Mrs Bucket's acknowledgement, didn't exist.

"What's with all the fright! Heck, Willy Wonka, there's nothing in there!" _Oh, but there is, _said Willy Wonka's eerie grin. His arm reached over at Mrs Bucket and in an instant she felt her body being so forcedly inclined to the wonder pool. "Uh…" she weaved tremulously. She could barely control her balance. But the mystic glow that infiltrated her eyes, made her want to lose her balance. Never in her life has she been do near her soul as in that moment. She felt it vibrant and so beautiful, and clear as though it was shimmering right before her. She could be with her soul, just one touch away. Oblivious to Mr. Wonka's voice squeaking in front of her ear, oblivious to her sweat and skin, unaware of everything that wasn't in this numinous, strange, fairylike, whimsically atmospheric world. Now she was shivering, so hard, so unnatural, but so deep within her. She's so scared, but the fear only comes from the extremely unconceivable amazement she found herself believing.

"Come here," Wonka gestured to an crock skew with a totally cracked look on his face. It represent his own amazement to his freshly realized conception. The crock skew saw it, accepted it, got accustomed to it, and obeyed amicably, with his tiny, gentle footsteps towards his crazy master. Wonka's stretched out arm rested on the little shoulder when it arrived. "Look here! Look," he managed to stifle his exclamation in a soft exuberant mutter. "It worked! It's more of an instinctive work that a genius work! I designed it within one of the deepest connections with my dynamic spirit of unconsciousness, and now it got her! See? You can see it in her eyes? My spirit captivates one who touches it! My spirit is captivating!"

The crock skew already had a distant, dreamy smile at Mr. Wonka's awesome revelations. Then he said something, he explained why Mrs Bucket has never looked at him that way before in a sentence that indicated in Willy's interpretation, "Others are usually distracted by your insanity."

Willy Wonka's eyes widened with provocation. He straightened splendid back and looked up in thought. "But they're drawn to my candy," he said in his high-leveled eyesight that was then lowered with a precious glint in the violet raving oceans towards the crock skew. "That's where most of my spirit skims about! They like and they don't know they like me." Then the infamous giggle followed, reflecting his well-hidden superiority. The slim, magenta, sleek figure stood in a dreamy state for a while, not knowing for how long this would go on, until he snapped his tongue as he tilted his head towards his silent listener, and said, "Alright. Go now. Fun is over, but not for me it never is." The crock skew emitted a barely detectable wheeze, shaking his head, and Willy Wonka was waiting, watching him until he disappeared. Then, in a perfect circle, he whirled on one heeled foot, turning back to the female wonderment that was by now flaring up with invisible smoke of the unfathomable and the imaginative power of whim. One like Willy Wonka could tell she had enough, and this saturation became a raging process of emanation.

"Mrs Bucket!" Willy screeched when he held her by the hair, tilting her head to the farthest extent onto the back of her neck to face her. He was darn worried now. This potion was supposed to _not EVER _overfill her. No one can ever come back out of too much heaven or easily drop down from Neverland. Willy Wonka looked at her dull, misty eyes for a long, long uncomprehending moment. Then his eyes swerved into its eerie theme to the side. _Now was his chance,_ he was thinking. He could after all be saving her, but now… Now was his chance to actually prove his degree of his own hazardous intentions.

Now, if you were watching this scene, and you know Willy Wonka, then you don't know what's coming. And if you are watching and you've known Willy Wonka to the extent that you might've as well created him or has once been his own inspirations, then you surely do not know what's going on. But if you are a good observer, a truly good one, and you are observing him naturally, and intensely, and openly, and you don't know him, then you might as well know what is about to happen…


End file.
